


Shot

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Enemas, Gen, Sickfic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarek applies Spock's medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Drabble for anon’s “Sarek and spock (not prime) and enemas” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

At first, he tries to look up at Sarek, face burning with determination, but then the real _burning_ catches up, and he looks away, cheeks too green in their warmth. His usually neatly-brushed fringe is a sticky mess across his forehead, and his breathing is too laboured for Sarek’s comfort.

He’s sick, very sick, and even though the healers have assured Sarek that his son will recover, it’s nonetheless unsettling. Spock is stripped completely bare—and fabric that touches his skin sticks there and stifles his ability to breathe. His bed sheets have been replaced with a single cooling layer, plastic-like in texture, and his back and arms and feet cling to it. His knees are in the air, legs spread as Sarek stands between them. 

“Pass me your spare pillow,” Sarek says, and Spock does so, reaching back to toss it over. Catching it easily, Sarek presses it against Spock’s skin and instructs his child, “Lift your rear.” Though Spock raises confused eyebrows, he complies. Sarek pushes the cushion into the gap, effectively propping Spock’s ass up, and explains, “You will need to hold the enema inside yourself for at least thirty minutes before you dispel it. It would be wise to keep yourself tilted, allowing gravity to aid you.”

Spock nods in new understanding and mumbles a bleary, “Thank you, Father.” His head rolls away again, eyes slipping half-closed. He’s in pain, Sarek can tell, and it’s irksome, uncomfortable and illogically difficult to see, but Sarek is about to ease as much of it as he can. He presses the thin metal instrument against Spock’s entrance, already slick from where he’s spread the lube along it; the rod’s end is very, very thin, but he wants to make sure there is absolutely no chance of adding any pain.

Spock is probably old enough to administer the medicine himself. More than old enough. But Spock is hazy and in-and-out of consciousness, while Sarek is steady, able to be sure. He slowly presses down the syringe, and a soft gasp leaves Spock’s lips; he’s filling. 

The amount of medicine is sizable. Sarek watches Spock’s stomach rise, his thighs tensing and his head falling back, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t cry out. He’s a good Vulcan. He’ll be leaving to the Vulcan Science Academy soon enough, and he’ll need to be completely _Vulcan_ there—his human failings will not be viewed as kindly as they are in this house. His strength in the face of this adversity is an admiral show, and though it remains unspoken, Sarek can feel a familiar twinge of pride in his chest. 

He fills Spock with everything there is to give, and then the instrument gently recedes. Sarek watches Spock’s hole twitch and shrink itself back down, sealing in the liquid. Spock is panting heavily, but his face is slightly more relaxed: minutely better. Sarek places the syringe back in the kit he brought, and he closes the lid.

Then he walks around the bed and takes a seat near the head, where he can lower one hand to Spock’s sweltering face, and he spreads his fingers over the contact points. Whatever pain is left, Sarek will take away. Spock moans a weak, “Father...”

And Sarek replies calmly, _in Spock’s mind_ a second later, “I am here.”


End file.
